


The Sweet Hello, The Sad Goodbye

by totilott



Series: A Groovy Kind of Love [22]
Category: DCU (Comics), Justice League International (Comics)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Depression, Fix-It, M/M, Masturbation, Reunions, Sexual Fantasy, The Conglomerate, time paradox
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-17 22:27:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21850702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/totilott/pseuds/totilott
Summary: There are times Booster feels like he'll explode from wanting. Ted too.
Relationships: Michael Carter/Ted Kord
Series: A Groovy Kind of Love [22]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1282328
Comments: 2
Kudos: 52





	The Sweet Hello, The Sad Goodbye

Booster grunts, hugging his pillow tighter, body heavy with sleep. 

_“...Hey, I thought I was smart, I won her heart, didn’t think I’d do...”_

There’s an aching tightness in his lower body, and it takes him a few more seconds of approaching full consciousness before he realizes it’s his erection. Without opening his eyes, he grunts again, squirming lightly against the mattress, asserting that yes, he’s rock hard. There’ll probably be a divot in his mattress for days. One of those mornings.

It’s still early. Still enough time to sneak into Ted’s room next door, slip into his bed, wake him with soft kisses and gentle, teasing touches. Feel his sleep-warm skin under insistent fingertips, and --

Oh.

_“...Let her go ahead, take his love instead, and someday she will see...”_

Booster forces an eye open, unfocused gaze taking in this bedroom with the purple walls, sunlight spilling in from the panoramic windows. Not at the Embassy anymore. And not so early either.

His sleep pattern is getting worse, unable to fall asleep until the early morning hours, sleeping until mid-day, unless Claire wants him to make an appearance earlier. He’s grateful he’s done with the morning show circuit, at least. Hard to look excited and trustworthy and heroic sitting in a too-bright TV studio at five thirty in the morning, doing self-promotion. That's a tough call even for him.

He hugs his pillow tighter once again, burying his face with a grunt.

_“...Why can’t I stop and tell myself I’m wrong, I’m wrong, so wrong...”_

He makes a face at the radio droning on from his nightstand, and with a sigh he eventually leans over and switches it off. He doesn’t need songs about heartbreak and misery on a Thursday morning (is it Thursday? Monday? Does it matter?). He tells himself he’s not going to turn it on again tonight, not even when his home seems impossibly dead and empty and quiet.

It’s what they do to to puppies, isn’t it? Droning noises to make it think it hasn’t been taken from its litter, its family. Fake comfort to make it feel less alone.

He’s better than a puppy, isn’t he?

Booster massages the bridge of his nose, rubs his eyes until he sees stars. At some point he’s bound to stop thinking about him the moment he wakes up. Any day now. 

It's not like they quit cold turkey, either. Before Booster left there were weeks of anger and resentment, before that, a prim and celibate stay at... the resort. Why does this body still believe things are the way they were ages ago?

He squirms, his hard cock moving against the mattress, relentless, aching.

_Stop thinking about him._

Stop _thinking about him._

He rolls over on his back with a groan, an ache in his temple that only makes itself known the moment he moves. Like it isn’t bad enough waking up horny, he’s gotta wake up with a headache as well.

He can't trust this body anymore.

He kicks off his covers, making a point not to glance at his digital alarm clock. He hasn’t been scheduled for any promotional appearances today, so time doesn’t matter at all. Doesn’t matter if it’s eight or twelve or three o’clock, all that matters is being ready if the phone rings and they’ve got a mission. And the phone hasn’t rung in days.

That’s the Conglomerate life. Days of inactivity until one of their sponsors has a problem they can’t throw money at to solve. All Booster needs to do is be ready when the phone rings, but in the meantime he’s left to his own devices. What little devices there are.

_Okay. A plan for the day._

He’ll stay in bed until his body screams for activity, and then he’ll head to the gym downstairs. Feel a short-lived sense of purpose as he moves iron, sweats out some of the frustration. Shower and then eating out after, maybe that Korean place down the street. Head back, watch TV until he can't keep his eyes open and eventually fall asleep.

Same as always. But no radio tonight. Just him and the designer furniture and the weird art Claire’s people put in. Like the one in his living room that looks kinda like a huge purple fiberglass dick if you squint.

He frowns at the ceiling, his gaze unfocused.

_Jesus, Booster. Is this gonna be the rest of your life?_

He wonders again; Maybe he made the wrong call, wanting an apartment away from the rest of his team. They’re all staying in the Conglomerate HQ. Together. Of course, they're continually on the brink of murdering each other, but at least they get a bit of daily human interaction beyond telling a waiter their order.

It's only a few blocks from here. He’ll head down there later, he tells himself, already suspecting that’s a lie. Hang out with them. If they all don’t leave when he enters the room. If they all don’t sneer with contempt the moment he tries speaking to them. It's gotta be better than staying in here all week.

_That makes two teams that can’t stand me. I'm two for two. Good going, Booster-boy._

His erection strains against his underwear. No amount of self-pity seems to affect it. Fuck.

Idly he cups himself with a hand over his Y-fronts. He trails lazy fingertips up the length, over the cotton, trying not to think. Empty head. Shouldn't be too hard for Booster Gold, right?

He closes his eyes as his fingers slip under the waistband, underneath the soft cotton. He gently trails fingers up the shaft, over the head, feeling the smooth drop of pre-cum between his thumb and index finger. Imagining soft wet lips closing around the head, auburn curls tickling his stomach.

 _Don't you dare_ , he tells himself and opens his eyes.

He makes a face. That's what comes from not watching porn. Didn't he try, when he came to this time period, to get used to those weird, joyless videos and pictures? He'd foolishly assumed dirty images were dirty images all through history, but the late twentieth century had to win some kind of prize for most synthetic, transactional acts caught on film.

_We're all dying to know, Mr. Gold: What do you miss most from your own time period?_

_Well, Oprah, I sure miss the pornography._

It wasn't easy in the beginning, to get used to relying on his mind, his imagination, his memories when he needed stimulation, but it became a powerful habit over time.

Well that’s come back to bite him in the ass, hasn’t it?

He sighs, trailing his fingers over the head, pushing the waistband down with his knuckles. Just... Just focus on the sensation. No different if you do it or someone else does it for you. Nerve endings being stimulated, everything else is corny sentimentalism. Like... hugging. Kissing. Curling up in bed together, naked skin warming naked skin.

He groans quietly -- out of frustration, not pleasure, and wipes his face with his free hand.

He's just horny, that's all. Not so horny he wouldn't gladly trade his next orgasm for a warm body to hug tight though, give sleepy kisses to, doze off with. Just like him to get hung up on the gooey stuff when people just want a young pretty idiot to fuck. He could be so _content_ if that was all he wanted to be, a good-looking lay.

But that wasn't what Ted was after, was it? Whatever he was looking for. They weren’t even fucking in the end. Just fighting.

_Jesus Christ. Just get off already, Booster. Get on with your day._

He wraps impatient fingers around himself, a weird little flush of pride at his solid hardness, his girth. No end to people who would like to touch him like this, wrap eager lips around him, taste him, swallow him down. He arches his back as he strokes himself slowly, imagining a wet tongue teasing the head, a hoarse voice moaning low and deep, muffled by his cock, Ted looking up at him with --

Booster flops against the bed with a sigh. Do they still do lobotomies in this age? Where do you order one?

Fuck. He’s been with other people. He’s fantasized about other people.

He frowns, his eyes closed. _Someone. Anyone. Mark._ From his first year at Gotham U. God, that feels like decades ago. Secret makeout sessions in the locker room, egging each other on, sharing the adrenaline of almost getting caught with their hands down each other’s pants. 

Booster sighs, rolling his hips against his hand. Mark’s long, slim body pressing him against the wall, one insistent leg between Booster’s, their hips rocking against each other, Booster trying to stop from moaning and alerting his teammates on the other side of the lockers as he comes in his football tights, rutting desperately against Mark’s thigh.

Fuck he would have loved to have done that to Ted. Just once.

A soft groan escapes him as he tries to think about Mark’s tall, wiry body. He used to be so fucking turned on by that body, by his long, exploring fingers, but it doesn’t really get him going anymore. He tries to remember the taste of that smooth dark skin on his tongue, the bounce of tight compact muscles under his fingertips, but his mind rebels, wanting to morph those long wiry legs into something shorter, stronger, thicker. His inner eye wants to ponder pale, flushed skin, drops of sweat like beads on soft body hair.

Booster feels an aching tightness in his lower stomach at those flashes of images in his head. He speeds up the movements of his hand, licking his lips as he thinks about cupping that broad hairy chest in his hands, feeling those thick strong thighs wrapping around his hips, squeezing him hard, eagerly. Fuck, he can tell he'll get there so much quicker if he just lets his imagination go where it wants to.

Booster raises his free hands to his mouth, other hand eagerly stroking, and licks his fingertips. Eyes still closed, he imagines teasing the head of Ted’s cock right there, tip of his tongue flicking against the hot, salty skin, making Ted buck and moan. He wetly kisses his fingers and takes them in his mouth, groaning against them, making his tongue broad and wet, rolling against the sensitive underside of Ted’s thick hard cock.

Booster squirms, enjoying the tight hot sensation in his pelvis. It's so easy when he doesn't fight his own mind.

Shuffling in bed, removing his fingers from his mouth, Booster slows his other hand, stroking himself with loosely held fingers, delaying. He lowers his free hand, wet with spit, and contorts himself until he can squeeze it behind him, teasing himself. He imagines Ted’s cock prodding him, Ted deliciously on top of him, eyes dark and mischievous with purpose, Booster’s legs wrapped around him, urging him on.

He slips a finger inside himself, moaning low at the thought of Ted’s expression, so surprised at the pleasure, Booster tight and eager and hard and desperate for him. Ted’s voice, teasing, hoarse with excitement, asking Booster if it feels good, and Booster moaning, begging Ted to fuck him already.

He imagines Ted rolling his hips, slow, deep, testing, and Booster whimpers as he pushes another finger into himself. And then, assured that it’s what they both want, want so fucking bad, Ted starts thrusting into him in earnest, so deep, a confident rhythm punctuated each time by Booster’s shameless moans, surrendered in full to Ted’s strong body weighing him down, demanding him, enjoying him.

_Ah. Ted. Ted!_

Booster's fist is tighter around his cock, moving in time to the thrust of his fingers, knees lightly splayed, imagining cupping Ted’s full sexy ass in his hands, pulling him deeper, feeling the powerful muscles working under his fingertips with every thrust. Ted picking a faster pace, murmuring out of breath that he’s close, how good it feels, how tight and delicious Booster is.

Booster moans, arching his neck, moving his hands faster, a delicious heat blooming inside him. _I want you to come. Ted. I want you to come inside me._ His toes are tingling, the tightness in his abdomen growing, tensing his thighs, his chest.

_Fuck. Ted. Please. Please. Come._

Ted moaning his name, loud, unashamed, as his back arches and he slams his hips forward, so caught up in his own pleasure he forgets to be gentle, coming deep inside Booster, cock pulsing, hips rhythmically twitching forward with each spurt, filling Booster up, marking him, using him, enjoying him.

Wanting him. 

Booster whimpers and comes, a fire-hot wave rolling through his body as he feels himself squeezing around his fingers in a fast abating rhythm. He's dimly aware of cum running down his hand, warming his naked skin.

When it passes he flops against the bed, out of breath, squeezing his eyes shut.

The post-orgasm tingle manages to hold off the shame for several seconds this time.

_Jesus._

He breathes deeply, a soft groan escaping him.

_Jesus, not again._

Booster Gold just made it as the world’s biggest idiot once again. For God knows how many times running.

He groans and pulls his blanket around himself, curling up on his side. _Never again._

_Never again, this isn’t healthy. You’re gonna lose it if you keep doing this, Booster-boy. Still fantasizing about him months later._

The problem is he’s stuck on his last lay, that’s it. He just needs to fuck someone else, flush Ted out of his system. Make some new memories, some new fantasies. He can go out tonight, to some bar or nightclub and just... Pick someone. Take them back here, be that good-looking lay and nothing more. Fill the soul-sucking silence with someone else’s moans, simply screw some lucky dude’s brains out.

He makes a face. Yeah, still risking too much flirting with men. A woman’s a safer bet. Even though he’s not much in the mood for women right now, hasn’t been for a while. Not in the mood for anyone, really. But if that’s what it takes he’ll grin and bear it.

Tonight, after he visits the Conglomerate building. He can ask a cab driver or something, find out what place is happening right now. Or Claire might know, he can ask her if --

“Excuse me. Sir?”

Booster startles upright, gaze snapping to the open door of his bedroom.

Intruders? Janitor? Team members? The sunlight falls on his skin as he rises from the bed, quickly tucking himself back into his underwear. He squints at the empty doorway, ready for a fight.

“Here, sir.”

Booster twists around, surprised at how close the voice was this time. They’re in the same room, how could he not see them if they’re --

The sun bounces off something in front of the window, blinding him for a moment. Something metallic, something golden.

“Juh -- Jesus,” Booster stutters. _“Skeets?!”_

* * *

Entering the Embassy living room, Ted can immediately tell something is different. There's a nervous energy in the air. He can spot Tora restlessly kneading her hands together in thought as she sits on the couch, and the next moment Guy pushes past him and Bea, bumping into them without a single remark before he’s gone. Not even a disgusted click of his tongue.

Something’s definitely wrong.

“What’s going on?” Ted asks, pulling off his cowl and goggles. “What's happened? Who’s hurt?”

_Another one. We’ve lost another one. Goddammit, who is it?_

“No one’s hurt, Beetle,” Tora assures him, standing up, hurrying to Bea’s side. She casts a glance towards the staircase up to the second floor, and already Ted’s pulse is thrumming in his ears.

“Well, what is it?” Bea urges, clasping Tora’s shoulders, studying her face. “For God’s sake just tell us, Tora.”

“It's -- he’s... He’s _back,”_ Tora stutters with another glance up to the second floor, and already Ted is pushing past them, leaping up the stairs two steps at a time.

_No. He can’t be back. What does "back" even mean? Back for a visit? Back for good? Is Booster done with the Conglomerate?_

He casts a glance towards the still empty room across the hall from his, can tell he’s not in there, so... Where?

_Max’ office. Max' office, he’s made up with Max, he's back for real. What the fuck are you gonna say to him, Ted? What the fuck will he say to me?_

He wants to stop himself but he can't. He’ll know how to react when he sees him. If they'll fight or yell or hug or talk. Right now he has no way of knowing. But Booster returning, even for a short while, that's -- that's a big step. That's a statement, that's a beginning. It's been months. They haven't spoken in months.

_He’s back._

Tearing open the door to the office he first sees Max at his desk, looking more than a little frazzled, wide eyes snapping to Ted when he thunders into the room. Next Ted sees some kind of metal structure, too excited to ponder it, and then a person, unmasked, wearing red and yellow and green and --

“Scott?” Ted stumbles against the door, the air knocked out of him, his vision suddenly fuzzy.

_It can’t be. It can’t be Scott._

“You’re -- you're _dead,”_ he murmurs, and at that there's a strange rolling sensation at the back of his head, making him nauseous, dizzy, so he grips the door harder, fighting to stay upright.

The man who looks so much like Scott chuckles self-consciously. “I promise I’m not, Ted.”

“But you --” Ted breathes. It feels like he’s being squeezed like a lemon. Like his muscles have been turned off. “You, I saw you -- in the ship, in the, the explosion, and you--”

Max jumps up from his chair, pushing it to the front of the desk. “Look, just sit down, Beetle. Get your bearings.”

Ted allows Max to coax him to his seat. He can’t tear his eyes off that face, that familiar face of Scott’s. The jet black hair, the kind eyes. He looks just like him. “I was at your funeral, man,” he stutters at last.

“I know,” Scott tells him earnestly. “But that wasn’t --”

“Scott fucking Free!” Bea squeals from doorway, Tora behind her. “You crazy son of a bitch!” She tears across the room, pulling Scott to his feet into a frantic hug. “I can’t believe it. I can’t believe you’re alive!”

Ted is sitting slumped forward in his seat, gaze unfocused, turned to the floor, and he can’t stop his whole body from trembling. Too much. Too much to handle in thirty short seconds.

“It’s so good to see you again,” Scott grins, not fighting to extract himself out of Bea's hug. “I can’t believe what a mess I got you all into. I had no idea about any of --”

“Oh, but -- _fuck,”_ Bea steps back, cold realization on her face. “What about Barda?”

“I’ve talked with her on the phone,” Scott assures her, though the worry on his face betrays that he’s still gonna have to do a lot of talking later. “I’m heading there as soon as I’m done here.”

“I was at your funeral,” Ted murmurs again, looking at him. Trying to focus his gaze but even his vision shudders as his body keeps trembling.

Scott turns to him, frowning, and then sits down opposite him again, reaching out to touch Ted’s shoulder with a gentle hand.

He even feels real.

“I’m sorry,” Scott tells him. “That wasn’t me, Ted. I... I was off-planet, doing a tour. That was an android meant to fill in for me here while I was gone.”

“Oh,” Ted breathes, folding his arms, trying to stop from shivering. He's ashamed that his body is acting like this. But everything is... too much.

“I’m sorry,” Scott repeats softly. “I didn’t know -- didn't know what you all were going through. I was sure nobody had even noticed I was gone.”

“I fucking _mourned you,_ Scott!” The words rip out of Ted, feeling like they're tearing something inside him as they leave, that they're too big for his body to express.

_I killed you. I really thought I'd killed you._

“We’ll give you two some privacy,” Max mutters gently, shooing Bea and Tora out the door, and the weird metallic sculpture from earlier leaves too, oddly enough. As the door is closed Ted imagines he hear the thing say something.

Too much.

“It’s weird coming back here, you know,” Scott murmurs once they’re alone. “I thought I’d just swap places again and get back to normal, but I come here and...” He sits back, sighing. “I don’t know how to handle this, all my friends having buried me.”

“You -- For fuck’s sake. You cuh-could have told us, Scott.” Ted hisses, not sure what emotions are bubbling in him right now. “Who was the smoke and mirrors even _for?”_

“It’s a long story,” Scott shrugs, but he frowns when he sees Ted glaring at him. He takes a deep breath. “None of this was planned, I didn’t want any of it, trust me. You think I wanted Barda to go through something like this?”

Squeezing his folded hands together, Ted breathes deeply until the trembling abates a little bit. He feels a little bit less dizzy, though there's still a knot in his stomach, aching. "I -- I thought it was my fault, you know." Ted swallows. "You dying. I've been, been trying to live with that. So ex-- excuse me if I'm a little overwhelmed right now."

"I'm sorry, Ted. I can't even imagine."

"No," Ted replies, his voice hoarse. "You can't."

“So, uh--” Scott rubs his neck. He inhales softly. “What’s happened while I was away?”

Ted clears his throat, looking away. “I’ve no fucking idea how long you’ve been gone, Scott.”

“Ah, right,” Scott murmurs apologetically. “I guess, like -- I don’t know, where’s Booster?”

It feels like an ice pick being driven into Ted’s chest. That’s everything he was hoping for, wasn’t it? That it was Booster who’d returned. And Ted so fucking eager to make amends. Pathetic. He chuckles hoarsely. “Yeah, he -- He quit.”

Scott’s eyes widen. “Booster _quit?”_

“He’s with another team now.”

“You mean, like the Europe division, or --”

“It’s a new group, they're, uh -- they're not affiliated with us.” Ted makes a face. “They call themselves _the Conglomerate_.” The disgust feels familiar by now. Like it helps him pull himself together a little bit. 

"You make them sound like they're the new Brotherhood of Evil or something." He blinks at Ted, concerned. "Booster hasn't... _turned_ or anything?"

"Oh no, they're squeaky clean," Ted waves his hand dismissively. "If you consider being the loyal servants of every massively influential megacorporation clean."

Scott wipes his face with his hand. “I can’t believe Booster quit.”

“Yeah,” Ted mutters darkly. “Same here.”

“So how --" Scott leans forward in his seat, bright eyes on Ted. "You two have have always been -- I mean, how are things between you?”

 _Where to fucking begin?_ Ted tries to chuckle bitterly but a spit bubble makes him cough.

“That bad?”

“Worse,” Ted mutters, coughing again. Then he remarks off-handedly, a little spark of strange pride in him; “I slugged him at your funeral, you know.”

Scott makes a strange little noise in reply. “Don’t tell me you had a falling out over _me?”_

“Not entirely,” Ted shrugs, wanting to play it off lighter than it was, than it is. Like the pain isn't there. “But you should have seen him there, Scott." He snorts. "Zero fucking shame, the way he --”

“But that wasn’t _real,_ Ted,” Scott leans forward in his seat, frowning. “It, it wasn’t my funeral, it doesn’t _matter_ what he --”

“It was real to _us,_ Scott!” Ted exclaims, that knot in him radiating a furious heat. “Everything was fucking real to us!”

There’s a shocked silence from Scott, and Ted rises, walking over to Max' panoramic window. He lost his best friend, and now his other friend is back from the dead like... Like nothing even mattered. Like what Ted and Booster went through was childish make-believe.

He squints against the sunlight, so absurdly bright, like it was at the funeral. It only makes the clumsy gray streaks on the window more obvious, a reminder of those bitter cleaning duty days.

“I’m sorry,” Scott tells him again. "I'm really sorry. I just don't know what... What you need from me."

“I know, I didn’t mean --” Ted takes another breath, trying to figure out what’s making that knot sting in him like this. “Look, I, I can’t tell you how relieved I am that you’re alive, Scott. I promise you I’m... _ecstatic_ , but --” He glances back over his shoulder. “Just because you’re back doesn’t mean we didn’t go through that whole ordeal, you know?" He sniffs, trailing a finger along one of the streaks. "I know you can't... understand, but you being here and happy and healthy, that doesn't mean that we’re already past it."

"I get it," Scott murmurs. "But I don't know how I'm supposed to fix it."

"I don't think it's something you're meant to fix, Scott," Ted turns, resting the back of his head against the window. "Or -- Or I don't think we need you to fix it. I don't know." Everything hurts. Even the good things hurt somehow, lately. "I just don't need you to show up and expect everything to be exactly the same. It's -- It's not over and done with just because you didn't experience it like we did.”

The breath catches in his throat, and worst of all is the blooming realization as the words leave his lips.

_Fuck. That’s how it is, isn’t it? That’s how everything is._

“I'll stay home with Barda for a while now, you know. You can... You get ample time to process this,” Scott replies softly. “But Booster -- he should know too, right? That I’m alive.”

There's a pause, and Ted feels a strange nervous energy travel up his spine as he looks out the window. Booster had been so mad when Ted had wanted to brush the resort fiasco aside. Their consequences had been the same, or so Ted had thought, but it was all... Fuck, the arrogance of Ted to assume just because he was done with something Booster ought to be too. So simple. So stupid.

Scott's voice is soft. “Who'll tell him?”

The pulse is thrumming in Ted’s temple as he sets his jaw. He’s not trembling anymore. “I will,” he says.

* * *

“I can’t believe you’re here, Skeets, buddy!” Booster beams, a little surprised his feet are still on the ground. Usually when he gets this excited he can’t help but hover or spin or take off. He looks down at himself, realizing he’s not wearing the ring -- actually, wearing nothing but his cotton Y-fronts. 

Skeets zips a little loop around him before coming to a rest in front of him, a subtle flourish that tells Booster he’s happy too. “It’s good to see you again, sir.”

“Skeets, I--” Booster laughs. “Shit, I’ve missed you, bud!” He’d hug him, but he knows security bots don’t appreciate that, makes all sorts of internal alarms go off. “You look good,” he grins. “Not a speck of rust on you.”

“Thank you,” Skeets replies.

Booster pauses. “What, no ‘you too’?” he chuckles. “I look that bad?” He looks down at himself, knowing Skeets isn’t one to mind a bit of naked skin. The drying cum is perhaps a little gauche, though. He strolls over to the bathroom to wash himself off, keeping the door open. “I haven’t got any rust either, you know, thank you for noticing.”

Skeets hovers outside the door. “Didn't mean to be rude, sir, but you are down 8.7 percent in muscle mass.”

“What, really?” Booster smiles, though this unprompted statistic makes his pulse rate spike. He lifts his arm, studying his body in the mirror. “Well, I... I haven’t been slacking off on my workouts, if that’s what you’re implying. I’m down at the gym every day. Except Wed--”

“Except Wednesdays,” Skeets jumps in. “Your rest day. I remember.”

“So maybe I haven’t been eating right,” Booster mutters, mostly to himself, splashing his chest and face with water. _I was right. I really am past my prime._ “I’ve been very busy, you know. I don’t have time working out a perfect -- hey.” He wipes his face with his hand, looking up at Skeets with bright eyes. “Have you heard I have my own team now? I’m the leader!”

“I have heard, sir,” Skeet replies. “Congratulations.”

Booster pulls a gigantic fluffy towel of the rack, rubbing his chest, then pauses and smiles at Skeets. “Man, I’ve _really_ missed you.” Beyond a friend, beyond a companion that got him through his first turbulent period in this age. A piece of home, the last remnant of his past, and one that doesn’t make him sad or ashamed about everything he tried to leave behind. He pauses. “Oh!” He crosses the room in a few bounds, reaching his dresser (most of his clothes hanging out of opened drawers) and begins the process of pulling on a pair of grey-blue pants. “You can join us!” He grins. “God knows I need more fliers. An extra pair of eyes up there -- you don’t have to do any heavy lifting or nothing, just lookout and advice and --”

“Sir,” Skeets begins.

“The suits’ll _love_ you.” Booster looks down as he buttons his fly. “They could make a tiny leather jacket for you. My advice: _Don’t_ give it away, they hate that.” He titters, sitting down on the edge of his bed with a shirt in his hand. “You know, I still regret not promoting you right, when we first got here. I was too caught up on my own image, you know, but you -- we could have little plush skeetses for the kids, get you in a few commercials, I mean--”

“Sir,” Skeets pleads, bobbing closer. “I’m sorry, I can’t stay.”

Booster pauses, looking up at him. “What do you mean?” The shirt in his hand silently drops to the floor. “Skeets. I-- I haven’t seen you in nearly two years.”

“I know, but the work in Cairo isn’t done.”

Booster clears his throat, looking down at his hands. He frowns. “So what are you doing here, then?”

“Hakim is here on a business trip and he gave me time off.” Skeets flies a little closer. “So I came to see you.”

“So it’s Hakim now?” Booster mutters, refusing to look up. “You were calling him Dr. Ghanam last time I saw you.”

“He prefers I call him Hakim. We're spending a lot of time together, so a bit of familiarity is expected.” Silently Skeets makes a little half-circle around Booster, like he's observing his reaction. “We’re doing important work.”

Booster snorts, looking up at the security bot. “Archiving? Indexing? You really think stuffing information into hard drives is your purpose in life?” He pulls up one leg and hugs it close to his body. “Good thing you stopped wasting time with me, huh?”

It was Booster who _got_ Skeets that gig. Or partly, anyway. Three years ago when Booster was all abuzz about getting into the Justice League, wanting to make it on his own, unhindered by his past life. A simple way to keep Skeets occupied, busy. Maybe even happy.

Too happy, it seems.

“It’s important work, sir,” Skeets repeats, not rising to any bait as usual. You can’t even have a good argument with a robot. “And very helpful. A lot of information was lost between this century and the 25th. Hakim and I are testing different mediums for storing historical information in ways that will endure.”

“And how can you tell?” Booster mutters, flopping down on his back. “We’re not getting back there anytime soon.”

“I can already tell, sir.” Skeets almost sounds proud. “I have information in my tertiary drive that I didn’t possess before.”

"Well, sure, you've learned stuff while we've been here."

"Not through my tertiary drive. That one hasn't been updated since we left 2462."

“What, you -- you mean,” Booster sits up, scrunching his face in thought. “You store stuff externally now, in the past, that you’ll learn in the future and then when you got back to the past you remembered stuff you -- you were gonna store now?”

There’s a faint whirr from Skeets. “Yes, I think you got the gist of it, sir.”

Booster folds his legs, momentarily too confused to act huffy. “Okay, so... Does that mean _I_ know things now because you, you made sure they’ll be remembered in the 25th Century, that I-- I didn’t know before you did this?”

“Well, we’re hardly ‘making sure’ this information will be kept for centuries.” Skeets trails a slow circle above him. “No system is perfect, there’s always a loss of data, or garbling of data, or tampering of --”

“Okay sure,” Booster cuts him off. “But do I?”

“Probably.”

Booster closes his eyes, trying to feel if any memories might have shifted and changed over these last few years. But nothing feels different. “Like what?”

There's a dim blink of light behind Skeets' front panel as he thinks. “Well, sir, remember Nice ‘n’ Slicey?”

Booster chews a fingernail in thought. “Nn... No.”

“A kitchen gadget. It was just about to hit markets when we arrived in this age.”

Booster makes a face. “Nope, doesn't ring a bell.”

“Well, you made a number of investments around that time.”

“Sure,” Booster tilts his head, looking at Skeets. “Made a comfortable sum of money, too. Did I invest in that... slicey nicey thing?”

“Nice ‘n’ Slicey,” Skeets corrects him. “And, well, you _did_ , sir, originally, but after an unlucky customer accidentally cut off two of their fingers with it, Nice ‘n’ Slicey was pulled off the market and you lost a considerable amount of money. Almost ruined you financially.”

“But, um,” Booster clears his throat. “That... never happened. I can swear that didn’t happen.”

“Sure, because I was able to warn you when you considered investing in that product.”

Booster pulls his fingers through his hair. “But... there was also a time when you didn’t?”

“Because I didn’t have that information in my tertiary drive, yes.”

Booster massages the bridge of his nose. He could never stand time paradoxes.

“There are probably things you were taught in school that you weren’t taught before,” Skeets continues. “Though what remnants I have in my drives about the original timelines suggest those changes didn’t affect you in any significant way.”

“I never paid to much attention in school anyway,” Booster murmurs. He ponders for a moment, then jolts, looking at Skeets. "But, um, that changes everything, doesn't it? If you can store everything about this age and warn me, I can, can stop every catastrophe from happening. I can be sure I never ever make a mistake. We can --"

"It's not that simple, sir," Skeets interjects softly. "No information Hakim and I store is guaranteed to endure, in fact from what I can tell from my tertiary drive, very little does. It was probably blind luck that made the records of public safety hazards among kitchen tools from this century last into our age."

"Does your tertiary drive say anything about me?" Booster frowns, squeezing his fingers together. He clears his throat. "Does it say anything about... my team?"

_Please. Please tell me I did the right thing._

"I'm sorry, sir." Skeets tilts slightly in sympathy. "I have no such records."

There’s a pause, the encompassing silence of the apartment making Booster shudder. He still can't get used to the silence.

“So how long are you here for, then?” he asks at last, looking down at his hands.

“Not for long, sir.” Skeets whirrs. “There’s still a lot of work to be done.”

“So that’s the rest of your life then?” Booster rests his chin in his hand. “Just... forever filing away current events as they happen?”

“This is Hakim’s project, not mine,” Skeets replies. “I’m merely his assistant.”

“Sounds like he’s practically family,” Booster mutters. A genius big-time scientist. Probably one of the first people Skeets has ever been able to hold a real conversation with. A far cry from a dumb jock like Booster.

“I’m his assistant, sir, and once we find an ideal medium for storing information, or his funding runs out, I believe I will consider our work concluded.”

“Sure.” The air is so stifling in here. Smells of plastic and dust and cum. Good thing Skeets doesn’t have an olfactory sensor.

 _You wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t for me, you know_. Something in him wants to say it out loud, but he doesn’t know if it’ll turn out to be an attempt at a guilt-trip or an apology.

“Are you happy, with your own team?”

Booster looks up, startled. He swallows. "Of course!"

“That’s good, sir. I’m happy for you.”

“It's great,” Booster mutters. A team that hates him and bosses that yell at him and a pathetic broken heart that won’t heal and a body that’s wasting away, apparently. What isn’t there to love?

“I follow the news, you know,” Skeets tells him earnestly. “Hakim’s family even tapes your TV interviews for me so I can watch them at the end of the day.”

Booster snorts, not looking up.

“It’s good to see you doing so well, sir.”

“Yeah, that’s just how I am,” Booster glances up at him, forcing a smile. “Always landing on my feet.”

“I'm sorry, I need to get going, sir.” Skeets floats a little closer to the open window. “I’m meeting Hakim at the airport.”

“Mm,” Booster mutters, his gaze resting on the radio on his nighstand.

Skeets pauses, hovering. “Take care,” he says at last, and makes for the window.

"Wait. Skeets!" 

The robot turns, peeking back into the room. “What is it, sir?”

Booster rubs his neck, a strange aching flutter in him. “You... take care, too, Skeets. Don't wear yourself out.” Booster looks at him, offering a weak smile. “When you’re done in Cairo you know where to find me.”

“I do. Thank you, sir.” The light in his front panel blinks warmly. “Good luck with your new team.” The sunlight reflects off him as he leaves, the beam of light travelling down Booster's wall.

“And if you get any more time off you’re welcome to come see me again!” Booster shouts after him, but he’s already gone.

Gone, leaving only the silence and the ugly art and the empty rooms.

Booster crawls back into bed and wrap his blanket tightly around himself.

Always landing on his feet.

**Author's Note:**

> Remember you can [VOTE](https://strawpoll.com/4xzwbygd) for what kind of silly shenanigans I should write for Booster and Ted once this arc is concluded!
> 
> Look, so far this series has been me retellling canon while stirring in things I like. But THIS? This is my first fix-it. I'll tell you why: Do you know that the canon reason Skeets wasn't around for JLI was because Booster put him in storage? In. Storage. Nuh-uh. Unacceptable. Absolutely no way. That one's been bothering me for a fucking decade. 
> 
> **[Songs:](https://open.spotify.com/user/tilly_stratford/playlist/4SqomvmhyncWPEAobYUZ88?si=DNXWufsLSs29KqRywW2U9A)**  
>  Needles and pins - The Searchers  
> The sweet hello, the sad goodbye - Roxette


End file.
